I'm a Monster, Yet You Love Me Anyways
by shmiley
Summary: Creature AU. Dean's a vampire and gets captured. He's given up all hope until he's saved by a certain blue eyed phoenix. Eventual Destiel. rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

He was losing it. The bar was reaching cacophonous levels. The slamming of doors and bottles, the whine of electricity coursing through light bulbs, the rumbling of human voices mixed with the jarring thud of music like thunder on a distant plain. Then there was the constant overlapping _thud thud_ of the heartbeats of the patrons in the bar. He couldn't take it anymore. Sliding off the bar stool, he placed a wad of cash on the counter and walked out the door.

Outside, it was bitterly cold. At least, that's what he surmised from the various couples huddled together, their breath pooling into clouds of mist in front of their faces. He didn't feel much lately, except for the cold. Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, he continued down the alley next to the bar, stumbling every few steps. He was lost in thought, weak from hunger, just a _tiny_ bit drunk, and still reeling from the tumultuous noise leaking from the bar.

Suddenly, he was slammed against the wall and had a syringe full of what could only be dead man's blood jammed into his neck. Glaring at the fuzzy form of his attacker, he slowly slipped toward unconsciousness. His last thoughts were of his giant moose of a brother. A brother long gone. A brother he had failed. Again. Sighing, he allowed the hazy blackness to claim him.

**A/N: hi, this is my first fanfiction, and for some reason, I really like to be vague. Hopefully time will clear up any questions you might have! I have the first 9 chapters written, but you should let me know if I should continue or if it's just complete and absolute crap. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

When he came to, he was tied to a chair. There was a sharp scraping coming from the corner of the room, a sound he instantly recognized as a knife sharpening. He was overcome with memories of sitting in a dingy motel room, sharpening his knives while he waited for Sa- No. Stop right there. He couldn't fall apart now. There would be plenty of time for that later, after he got away from this psychopath.

He squirmed in his chair, hoping to find a weakness in his bonds. If he could just get out and get behind his attacker…

"Stay right there." a nasally voice commanded from behind him. Inexplicably, he did as he was told. His muscles froze up, making it a challenge to even blink. He heard footsteps, and a tall, balding man stepped into his line of vision with a frown on his face. Apparently, the man hadn't expected him to obey his command. The frown slid from his face as understanding dawned in his eyes.

Chuckling, the man crouched down next to him, a smile on his face and murder in his eyes.

"What's your name?" the man asked nonchalantly, as if they were two friends meeting for coffee, rather than prisoner and captor.

He managed to bite out a "Screw you," before the man slashed a knife coated in dead man's blood across his thigh, causing him to howl in agony.

"Tell me your name," the man growled, using a command this time instead of a question. It was laced with a strange power, compelling him to reply. He fought as hard as he could before succumbing to the powerful force in his head. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pounding behind his eyes.

"Dean," he hissed, face pinched tight from physical and mental pain.

"Last name," the man demanded, clearly losing patience with Dean's antics.

"Winchester." Dean didn't bother with fighting the command, and his voice was resigned. He was already preparing himself for the explosion of anger from the creature. After all, killing monsters doesn't earn you too many points, with humans or monsters. One tries to kill you, the other tries to lock you into a mental ward. To Dean's surprise, the man only laughed.

"A Winchester has finally joined my flock, eh? This is just too good. How does it feel, to become the very thing that you've dedicated your life to killing? The tables have turned, isn't that right, Dean-o? You're a monster. Heck, you _hunger_ after human _blood_." The man sighed, then gave Dean a wicked smile. "How about we get to know each other better?" With an evil cackle, he began to carve.

**A/N: chapter two! If you notice any plot holes or confusing parts, please tell me, it would be greatly appreciated. Also, all mistakes are my own.** **Sorry that my chapters are really short, too.****Disclaimer: anything supernatural related is not mine. *sniffle***


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn't know how much time had passed since he was kidnapped. Days, months, years? Who knows, it was hard to keep track of time. The only constant was the man - Alastair - and his knife. He seemed determined to carve out his revenge on Dean's skin. Dean, who could only resist so much.

Dean had always been the perfect soldier in life, and his curse seemed to have followed him into his afterlife, as well. He was forced to follow the commands of anyone. At least, that's what Alastair had said. He was the only person Dean ever saw anymore. It had something to do with "Mommy never taught me how to share." Alastair used Dean's curse to his advantage, commanding him to sit still so that Alastair didn't have to deal with the 'bothersome' restraints.

"You know how I found ya, Dean-o?" Alastair asked one day, early into Dean's captivity, his gaunt face close to Dean's. It caught the shadows eerily, morphing him into a creature sent up from the pits of Hell; pale, twisted, dead.

"How?" Dean spat out vehemently, not actually caring, but holding onto the hope that the pain would stop, even for a brief moment. Alastair ran a knife down Dean's face, caressing his cheek. Dean bit his lip and forced himself to look Alastair in the eyes.

"See, whenever there's a new convert to my little army of the undead, I can keep track of them for a few weeks. Maybe to watch over them, like a concerned parent. I mostly use it to find new playthings. Call it what you will, I prefer to think of it as an Alpha's intuition." Dean blinked. _Alpha?_ he thought, _as in-_

"The very first vampire? Why yes, that would be me." Alastair grinned and made a sweeping bow. "Alpha vampire, at your service."

"Why'd you kidnap me? What made you pick me?" Dean asked. These questions had been bothering Dean for days, weeks even.

"It's a little welcome party, just for you. See, when I felt you turn, I knew that there was something special about you. I was just gonna pick you up, show ya who's boss, and then toss you back on the streets." Alastair rubbed his face thoughtfully. "But you're _Dean Winchester_. I can't just let you slip outta my fingers. Nah, I'll keep you around for a while; work ya over, before I lop off your head. Maybe I'll mail it to Sam, as a present. Speaking of Sammy, how is your little brother? I hear that he's still breathing, even though you almost bled him dry."

"You shut your mouth, you son of a-"

"Stop talking," Alastair said calmly. "I wonder why you let him live. Was it self control, hmm, Dean-o? Was it your undying love for you brother? Or did he just simply tell you to stop, and you obeyed like the good little soldier that you are?" Sadly, it was none of these. It had taken Bobby busting into the room, syringe full of dead man's blood in his hand, to get him to let go of Sam, causing him to leap out of the window and run off. He hadn't seen Sam for, what? Three months? And that was _before _the kidnapping. Dean had no idea how long it had been.

"Maybe that's why Sammy dearest hasn't shown up to save you. He know that you're a monster. The Dean he knew is long gone. Now, you're just another thing to hunt, Dean." here, Alastair leaned in close. "He hates you, Dean. As far as he's concerned, you're already dead."

It was a month into his captivity, and Dean's spirit was already broken.

**A/N: Yes, I know that Alastair is not a vampire. But hey, it's an au. also, we won't meet any angels or demons in this universe. But, yay! Castiel next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel was on edge. He paced his room, thinking. The vampire alpha had resurfaced about a month ago, but now, now he had vanished, taking another vampire with him. Castiel winced, thinking about the poor creature. Stuck with Alastair for this long… He shook his head. No, it wasn't some poor creature, it was a bloodsucker. An undead abomination, vermin that needed to be exterminated. He had too much heart. Well, that's what Samandriel liked to tell him. Now. What to do about that alpha. He was hard to track down, and he needed to be killed. Or exterminated, whichever term you prefer.

Orders had come from higher up the chain of command. Orders to dispose of the alpha vampire, yet leave the other one unharmed. Castiel was to rescue it, actually, and then guard it with his life. What the other phoenixes wanted with a lowly vampire was beyond him. He didn't question orders, he just carried them out.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, tugging at the ends. His vessel ached from holding in his true form. The one with two heads, four wings, and pitch black plumage. It was an odd color for a phoenix, but he was grateful that it wasn't canary yellow. The _horror_.

Tired and aching, Castiel walked to the table in the center of the room. Sighing, he plopped into a chair and began to plan. He had a vampire to save, after all.

**A/N: I'm a firm believer in 'Cas' being _Dean's_ nickname for Castiel, so don't expect a whole ton of that, unless it's from Dean's pov. toodles!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Warnings: chopping off heads and descriptions of torture**

Three months. That's how long it took Castiel to track down Alastair, and he knew that the damage done to his charge would be very hard to fix, if not irreversible. He needed to act now, or it might be too late.

Castiel looked around his motel room and began to pack. He figured that it would be easy to get through the vampires that Alastair had no doubt stationed there, but you could never be too careful. Sure, he had his fire - vampires and fire don't mix too well - but he also took a couple of machetes, a dozen or so vials of dead man's blood, and two old fashioned crossbows. He cast one last look around the room, then walked out the door. He climbed into the passenger side of his car and looked at his partner, Balthazar.

Castiel liked Balthazar, he was funny and sarcastic. He questioned orders. He was the exact opposite of Castiel, and he was the one Castiel chose to work with. Giving Balthazar a slight nod, they drove off in a flurry of snow and ice.

It took them a couple of hours, but they finally reached their destination just as dusk was falling. They were parked outside of an abandoned warehouse - typical - somewhere in northern Montana. There was nothing for miles, the closest thing was a run down farm ten miles away. Perfect. Castiel looked over into Balthazar's eyes, an average phoenix blue. They both drew in a deep breath and stepped out of their car.

The warehouse was… unimpressive. It stood in a small clearing at the bottom of a hill, its windows were boarded up, and almost every inch of it was covered in graffiti or ivy. The only remarkable thing was that it was swarming with vampires. This was going to harder than he thought.

He and Balthazar crept down the hillside, taking out as many vampires as they could with their crossbows. Crouching in the bushes, he and Balthazar had a hushed conversation on what to do next.

"We can't just go in through the front door," Castiel hissed, it would be suicide, "we should go in through the back or side."

"They'll be _expecting_ that, Cassie. If we go through the front door, we'll have surprise on our side." Castiel had to admit that it was a good plan. He ducked his head in agreement, and together, they snuck up to the front door. Before they could even touch it, though, an alarm sounded, blaring across the grounds of the warehouse.

"So much for surprise," Castiel muttered. Throwing caution to the wind, they burst in through the door, killing the vampires in the room. Together they slashed off heads or set the ones that got too close on fire. When all of the vampires in the room were dead, they were both panting heavily. Their clothes were splattered with blood, and Castiel took a moment to bemoan his beloved overcoat.

_There's no time for that._ Balthazar snapped through their mental link. Castiel scowled at him, Balthazar knew how much Castiel hated using mind reading. Unfortunately, all phoenixes could have a mental bond with each other or their mate. That meant that Balthazar could use it all he wanted. Balthazar just cackled and set off down one of the many halls, hoping it was the correct choice. Castiel followed, still frowning.

They walked in silence, not wanting to alert the vampires of their presence, given the fact that vampires had superior hearing. They were getting close to the room that they knew held their charge when they found themselves surrounded by vampires. Balthazar shoved him towards a strangely empty hall.

"Go!" he shouted, "I'll hold them off."

Castiel nodded and turned, running down the hall, beheading the odd vampire or two. He could head Balthazar fighting, could hear the wet sucking sound of metal slicing through skin, the thump of heads hitting the floor. Castiel ran until he could hear it no more. He turned down a hall, and, seeing no immediate threats, he slowed to a walk. He had a stitch in his side, and was lost, much to his embarrassment. He closed his eyes and imagined the layout of the warehouse that he had memorized. He managed to pinpoint his location and set off again. He took a right, a left, and then several more rights, until he found himself in front of a heavy metal door. He touched it hesitantly, and was relieved to discover that it was not made out of iron. He tried the handle, and found that the door was unlocked. Odd. He pushed the door open and found himself in a stark white room. The only color came from the man lying on a bloodstained table in the center of the room. Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion. There were no restraints on the man, and his eyes were closed. He looked as though he was sleeping, yet vampires had no need for sleep. Perhaps this wasn't the one he was looking for.

He took a step forward, and saw the signs of torture on his arms and face. Cuts, bruises, broken bones, the works. His shirt was practically in shreds, just glued into place by dried blood. Several of his fingers on his left hand were swollen, most likely broken. He wasn't wearing shoes, and the soles of his feet were sliced up. Most sickeningly was the stump of his right pinky toe. He must be the one, Alastair only took one prisoner at a time. He took several steps forward, until he was next to the table. The man didn't open his eyes, even though he must've heard Castiel approach. How strange.

"Hello," Castiel started, and the man flinched. Interesting. "Can you open your eyes?" the man remained completely still, as though he was a statue. Castiel sighed and cast his eyes heavenward. He mouthed a quick prayer for patience. "For the love of- look, just open your eyes." The man's eyes flew open, and Castiel's breath caught in his chest. His eyes were incredibly green, Castiel could write poetry about them, if he were so inclined. The man's eyes widened when he saw Castiel. Obviously, he had expected someone else. "Sit up," Castiel commanded, and he watched the man sit up stiffly, woodenly. It made no sense. He wasn't tied down, he could've walked around the room if he wanted to. "Would you care to tell me your name?" Even to his own ears, he sounded impatient and irritated. The man flinched and shook his head vigorously. Castiel sighed again, a bad habit was forming. "Fine. At the risk of sounding like a complete and total idiot, I will call you Freckles." The man did have a ridiculously large amount of freckles adorning his cheeks and nose. He could spend hours counting them all, if he wanted. Which he most certainly did _not_ want to do.

"Follow me," Castiel said, and the man quickly stood, but collapsed almost immediately. Castiel grabbed his arm to hold him steady. Freckles tensed up, then relaxed when he realized that Castiel wasn't going to hurt him. Castiel let go when he decided that Freckles wouldn't be kissing the ground anytime soon, and he led Freckles to the door. He briefly wondered how he was able to stand, but quickly shrugged it off. Vampires were resilient. Like cockroaches. He slipped into the hall and waited patiently for Freckles to join him. He looked around the hall in awe, and Castiel wondered when the last time he left that room was. Castiel started down the hall, but stopped when he heard a thump behind him. Turning around, he saw that Freckles had collapsed, and now lay panting on the floor, his face screwed up in pain. Castiel pull him to his feet, being mindful of his broken fingers. He snaked an arm around Freckles' waist, and waited for him to catch his breath. It was odd that he chose to breathe, considering that vampires were technically dead, and thus had no need to breathe. This man was just a bundle full of contradictions. Castiel shifted his hold on Freckles so that he was supporting most of his weight, and noticed that Freckles was favoring his left side. _Probably a broken bone,_ Castiel thought. Once again he wondered how the vampire was able to stand, this vampire truly was something special. They set off down the halls, shuffling and stopping often for short breaks. The halls were silent, the only sound was their clumsy steps and Freckles' labored breathing. He winced when he breathed, and Castiel immediately thought about _cracked or broken ribs_. It was handy to have medical training in times like these. After what seemed like hours, Castiel finally allowed them to stop for a longer period.

"Rest," he said gently. Freckles slid down the wall and slumped to the floor, too exhausted to hold himself up any longer. Castiel scouted down the hall, looking for any potential threats. A shadow flashed on the wall, and Castiel pulled out his machete. He prepared himself to behead a vampire, when, much to his surprise, Balthazar swept out in front of him. Balthazar raised an eyebrow.

"Getting a bit machete-happy there, Cassie?" Castiel scowled at the jibe. "Did you happen to find our damsel in distress, by any chance?"

"He is not-"

"It's an expression, Cassie." Balthazar patted his shoulder and walked past him. Freckles had closed his eyes, but they snapped open when Balthazar approached. He shrank back against the wall, fear evident in his eyes. He looked around the hall frantically, until he found Castiel. He relaxed, but only slightly.

"Bit jumpy, aren't you?" Balthazar mused.

"Balthazar," Castiel warned. He didn't like anyone insulting Freckles, even if it was true.

"Hush up, Cassie." Balthazar snapped. Freckles raised an eyebrow, his question clear. _Cassie?_

Castiel sighed. "My name is Castiel. This is my brother, Balthazar. We are phoenixes, and we were sent to rescue you." Freckles' eye widened at the phoenix part, and he was once again pressed up against he wall. Obviously, he knew what happened to vampires that caught on fire.

"Relax," Balthazar said, and his brow furrowed when Freckles did just that. Castiel cocked his head to the side, curious.

"Stand up," Balthazar said, staring at Freckles. They watched as he hesitated, trembling, before he slowly got to his feet, doing his best to keep his weight off of his left leg. "Close your eyes," Balthazar demanded, and Freckles flinched. His eyes snapped shut, and he tensed up, apparently waiting for a blow. "Twirl-"

"Balthazar, enough of this," Castiel snapped, "Freckles, you may open your eyes." Next to him, Balthazar snorted. "What? He would not tell me his name." Castiel said defensively.

"You could just-"

"No." Castiel interrupted. "No, we need to leave. Did you get Alastair?"

"He got away," Balthazar growled. He hated to leave a job half way done. Both failed to notice the way Freckles paled when Alastair was mentioned, nor did they see the way he began to shake when he realized that Alastair was still out there. He unconsciously shuffled a bit closer to Castiel. "Come on, let's go," Balthazar ordered. Castiel was instantly by Freckles' side, arm around his waist, supporting him. Freckles sagged into his side, all of his strength gone. They made their way through the hall, stepping over and around decapitated vampires. When they made it out of the warehouse, Freckles stopped dead in his tracks. Castiel guessed this was his first time out in months. There was snow swirling in the air, and the January night was frigid. He glanced over at Freckles and had to stifle a laugh at the look of amazement on his face.

"Let's go, we can enjoy the bloody snow later," Balthazar said. Castiel tugged Freckles along, until they stopped in front of Castiel's car, a beat up old junker. Freckles stared at it with a look of utter disgust on his face.

"It's just a car," Castiel murmured. Freckles rolled his eyes and slid into the backseat.

Castiel closed the door and got into the passenger seat. _I should probably learn how to drive,_ Castiel thought to himself. Balthazar climbed into the driver's seat and started up the car. When Castiel looked into the rear-view mirror, Freckles had his face pressed up against the window, watching the snow fly by. Castiel smiled. They may have failed in killing Alastair, but at least they had managed to save his ward.

**A/N: yay! They saved Dean! Next chapter will be from Dean's point of view. Sorry that the chapters are no where near the same length, but I've really been looking forward to this chapter. Sorry if it's a bit jerky, but I tried my best to smooth it out. Once again, let me know if there are any blatantly obvious plot holes. I'm thinking that I'll update on Sundays from now on.  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings: Descriptions of torture and angst  
Crappy Writing Warning: I'm no medical professional, so everything in here is what I learned from a quick jaunt through google. Let me know if I got something wrong.  
**

When they pulled up outside a cheap motel, Dean was ecstatic. He had grown up in crap motels, and he could use a little familiarity right now. I mean, really, first he had been turned into a vampire, which was most definitely_ not_ something he wanted to think about. The he had been captured and tortured by a psychotic alpha for months, and now he had been rescued by two friggin'_ phoenixes_. Winchester luck.

Dean desperately wanted to say something to Castiel and Balthazar, but Alastair's last command was _don't say a word, Dean-o_. He shuddered when he thought of Alastair, probably always would. He would haunt Dean in his dreams, always equipped with a knife and a smarmy grin. He was grateful that he had been saved, but what was he supposed to do now? Before he was captured, he had been drowning, floundering about in a torrent of desires and restrictions. But with Alastair, he hadn't needed to worry about anything, just if it would all end the next day. He learned how to cope with pain, in fact, it was all he knew. Kindness was foreign to him, gentleness was a prelude to something worse, and friendliness was just a means to an end. But pain, pain he understood. There were no ulterior motives, just the sole desire to _hurt_. What were these phoenixes playing at? Why bother saving him, why be kind? They could kill Dean in a split second, end his miserable existence right then and there. For some strange reason, they rescued him from his Hell on Earth, and now they were staying in a motel. Why? The best thing for him to do would be to run away like the coward he was.

"Freckles?" a deep voice asked from beside him. Dean jumped. "Are you alright?" There was concern in Castiel's voice, which terrified Dean. He nodded quickly. "Well, we are here." Dean nodded again, but his thoughts were on Castiel's voice. Idly, he wondered if Castiel gargled with gravel every morning. It was deep and throaty, leaving Dean hanging on his every word. It was a pleasant change from Alastair's obnoxious, nasal voice. Ulterior motives be screwed, he might consider staying if it meant that he could listen to that voice everyday.

"Freckles." Castiel's voice was firm, yet laced with concern. Dean guessed that he had spaced out again. "Come inside." Dean sighed, but didn't fight the urge to do exactly as Castiel said. He slid out of the car, clutching his right arm to his chest, whilst being careful of his ribs and left hand. Unfortunately, he forgot about his broken leg, and would've crumpled to the ground if Castiel hadn't been there to catch him. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean's waist, and he leaned into the foreign warmth. It was rare for him to feel anything other than the cold grip of death, and Castiel's heat was a nice change. He could ignore the pain that the warmth brought, a pain that was strangely similar to sticking snow covered hands under warm water, if it meant that he wasn't cold all the time.

Castiel led him into a room where Balthazar was already passed out on one of the beds, snoring softly into one of the mysteriously stained pillows. Castiel gently lowered him onto the other bed and took a step back. He took in the way Dean cradled his right hand, how several fingers on his left hand were swollen, the way he winced with every breath. Admittedly, he no longer needed to breathe, but it made him feel more human and less like a monster. Castiel walked into the bathroom and came back with a roll of tape.

"It is not recommended to tape ribs, but seeing as you are not living, I suppose we could make an acception." Castiel said awkwardly. Dean shook his head. He was in denial, and he wanted to do it the human way. The way full of painful coughing and deep breaths. Castiel rolled his eyes. "What about your hand?" he asked. Dean shrugged. He didn't know what hand Castiel was talking about, but he could take care of a broken wrist and some fingers by himself. Well. Probably. Castiel glared at him and held out his hand. "Freckles, give me your hand." Dean let out a dramatic sigh and thrust his right hand towards Castiel. Castiel gingerly took Dean's hand between his own and stared at it intently._ Dude,_ Dean thought,_ staring at it isn't gonna fix it._ Then, Castiel's eyes began to glow a bright blue, causing Dean's mouth to drop open. After a few moments, he declared that he would have to move the bone back into place._ Creepy phoenix x-ray vision,_ Dean thought to himself bitterly. That would make things harder to hide from these two.

Dean did his best to sit still while Castiel guided the bone back into place, but it was difficult. Thankfully, Castiel was patient and didn't command Dean to sit still. After the bone was in place, Castiel quickly created a splint for his wrist using broken chair legs and gauze. Once he was done, Dean's hand and wrist didn't hurt so bad. He offered Castiel his left hand, and Castiel did his creepy x-ray thing. He made another splint using some of the motel's pens, and soon Dean's pointer and ring finger were encased in gauze. He flashed Castiel a quick smile, conveying his thanks into it. Castiel did not return the smile.

"Your leg," Castiel began, and Dean's smile faltered. He wished so very desperately that he could brush it off with a quick "I'm fine," but he still couldn't say a single freaking word without incurring a massive migraine. He let out a huff of air and gestured towards his leg, inviting Castiel to take a look. Castiel rolled up his tattered jeans and took a look. Once again, his eyes glowed blue, and then he was telling Dean that his leg was nondisplaced, whatever _that_ meant. Using another broken off chair leg, he wrapped Dean's leg, and soon it was practically useless. So much for running away.

"I'm going to sleep now, okay?" Castiel questioned. Dean nodded and Castiel climbed into the bed, toeing off his shoes and tossing his coat over a table as he went. "Don't try to run away," Castiel murmured as an afterthought. Dean stiffened. Even though he wasn't going to try to run off tonight, it was still nice to have a back-up plan. And the fact that Castiel said that meant that he knew Dean a lot better that he let on.

Groaning, Dean stood and hobbled towards the bathroom. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he froze. The man staring at him out of the mirror looked haunted, subdued, half dead. Well, since he was technically _all_ dead, that phrase wasn't quite true. He looked like crap, though, and that was that. His nose was crooked from the many times that Alastair had broken it, and he had heavy bruising on one side of his face. Cuts of various depths littered his face and neck. Then there were his eyes. He was used to seeing them with a spark, now they were dull. Flat and lifeless and_ broken_. They say the eyes are the windows of the soul. Maybe they were just reflecting the damage that he felt inside. He felt as though his entire world had been yanked out from under him, like he was a glass vase tumbling towards the floor, it was only a matter of time before he shattered, and who would be there to pick up the pieces? Sam most definitely hated him, and he didn't know Castiel well enough to count on him. No, he was going to break and stay broken, because _no one cared._

Dean took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the pain that was bound to occur when he took off his shirt. He yanked it off - it wasn't really a shirt anymore, just blood soaked rags - and his breath caught in his throat. Underneath all of the caked on blood, there were deep purple bruises across his chest from his broken ribs, with older yellow and green bruises lying below that. His skin was a map of cuts and burns, and along his shoulders and back were words. Alastair had been feeling particularly spiteful that day, and Dean had long since memorized what they said. They were words like _monster_ or _failure_ or _murderer. _Or his personal favorite,_ coward._

Closing the door, he allowed his head to thunk against the wall. All of those things were true, but it wasn't nice to be reminded of them whenever he looked in the mirror. Dean opened his eyes and quickly removed the rest of his clothes, barely taking in his sliced up legs, or the missing pinky toe on his right foot that Alastair had forced him to chop off. He clambered into the shower, taking care not to let his splints get wet. The water was cold and soothing, and soon he was clean and numb. He realized that he had no shirt to wear, and his pants were coated in blood. He grabbed his pants and set about cleaning them as best as he could, remembering when he had to wash his and Sam's clothes by hand because Dad hadn't left enough money to pay for a washing machine. He smiled and allowed himself to get lost in the memory for once. Sam had wanted to help, and Dean had agreed. It had ended with both of them soaked to the bone and zero clean clothes.

By now his pants were mostly clean, and he hung them up to dry. He turned off the water and sat huddled in the bathtub. He was so freaking _tired_, so he leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes.

**A/N: I swear I tried to make this fic happy, but it turns out that I am a naturally _unhappy_ person. Sorry about that. Although, I do plan on this story having a happy ending. I'm not really sure that I know where this is headed, though. I've also discovered that I prefer to write from Castiel's point of view, so from here on out, it'll probably be mostly from his pov, with the occasional Dean thrown in. Probably.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**thanks for the follows and favorites! suuuuuuper early update, i know, but i don't really have anything to do... enjoy**

Castiel woke the next morning and stretched. He congratulated himself on a job well done. He may have failed at killing Alastair, but he had saved Freckles… Freckles. Where was he? Castiel sat up and looked around the room. Balthazar was still passed out on the other bed, but the vampire was no where to be seen. Castiel threw off the blankets and jumped out of bed, panicking. He had told him not to run away last night, right? He thought he did. Castiel began to pace the room. Freckles could not disobey an order, it seemed, so where on earth was he? It was then that Castiel noticed that the bathroom door was shut. Mentally slapping himself, he went and pounded on the door.

"Freckles, are you in there?" Castiel asked. He waited for some answering thunk or something. For some reason, the man refused to say anything. There was no answer.

"Freckles, open this door, or so help me-" The bathroom door was yanked open, and Freckles stuck his head out, green eyes glaring. Their question was clear: _What do you freaking_ want_?_

"Uh, hello?" Castiel hadn't thought this far in advance, had only thought about making sure that Freckles was okay. "Um, what are you doing?" Freckles raised his eyebrows._ What do you _think_ I'm doing?_ "Sorry, that was a rather idiotic question. I will, ah, leave you to it, then." Freckles slammed the door shut and Castiel turned back to the room, letting out a breath. Freckles could be quite terrifying sometimes. He walked over to where Balthazar was sleeping and nudged him.

"Hey. Are you hungry?" Balthazar just grumbled something and rolled over. "I shall take that as a no." Castiel mumbled. He thought for a moment, then decided to go get something for breakfast. He walked over to the door and stepped outside. The gas station was only a block or two away, so he decided against flying there, despite the ever present ache throughout his body.

It was early in the morning, and there weren't too many people at the gas station. Castiel stood in front of the donut display, trying to decide whether to get glazed or chocolate. A large sign declared that all of their donuts were_ BAKED FRESH DAILY_, which Castiel found to be highly unlikely. There was no room for them to bake donuts, and from his few past experiences, gas station donuts were always, _always_ slightly stale. He decided on the glazed donuts, because the chocolate ones were called _Devil's food_. Really, who would want to eat food from Hell? Shaking his head at the stupidity of humans, Castiel paid and made his way back to their motel room.

Castiel took half an hour to buy his donuts, and he had expected there to be some sort of change with his companions, but he was wrong. Balthazar was still asleep and Freckles was still in the bathroom._ What is he doing? Putting on his make-up?_ Castiel snorted at his own joke and began to eat one of his donuts.

He was halfway through his third donut when Freckles finally made an appearance. He was wearing his pants from yesterday, but they looked a smidge cleaner. He wasn't wearing a shirt, which was unsurprising given the fact that it was just a few scrap of fabric held together by Freckles' blood. Castiel focused resolutely on Freckles' face, instead of the cuts and burns and… were those _words_ peeking over his shoulders?

"Would you like a donut?" Castiel offered. Freckles hesitated before pressing his lips together and shaking his head. _He looks like he might vomit,_ Castiel thought. Slowly, realization dawned on him. "When was the last time you… fed?" Freckles just shrugged and flopped onto Castiel's bed. He yanked the blankets over his shoulders and rolled onto his side, turning his back towards Castiel. It was the ultimate_ this conversation is over gesture_, but Castiel was having none of it. This was dangerous for Freckles. Vampires could only go for so long without blood before they started to loose their mind. Hallucinations, nightmares, paranoia, the whole shebang. Normally he wouldn't be worried, but Freckles looked so… tired. Castiel grabbed a pen and paper and walked over to Freckles.

"When was the last time you fed? Write it down." Castiel was getting panicky. Freckles gave him a glare before he wrote, _Dunno. Last week?_ Only a week ago? If he had fed that recently, he should be fine, not this tired. "How much?" He got another shrug from Freckles. He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth. Hurriedly, Freckles wrote,_ Enough._

"Enough? What's that supposed to mean?"

_Enough to keep me alive._ Ah, that's why he was so tired. He was alive, but only just. It was like not eating for days, and then you just stop noticing the hunger gnawing away in your gut, electing instead to sleep the day away.

"Let's go, we are going to find you some blood." Freckles raised an eyebrow. He hesitated, body trembling and quickly began to write.

_Tell me to talk_, he wrote. He frowned at it and added a _please?_ at the end. Castiel squinted at the odd request, as though it would help him understand why Freckles chose to ask that, but he quickly gave in.

"You may speak." Freckles smiled and cleared his throat.

"Thanks," he croaked, "man, you have _no idea_ how nice it is to talk instead of scream for once." Castiel stared at him. Sure, his voice was scratchy and hoarse, but it still sounded like a purring car engine. Freckles noticed his stare and quickly began to backtrack.

"I can stop talking," he said, "In fact, you won't even know I'm here. I'll be completely si-"

"Freckles," Castiel interrupted, "you are fine. You do not need permission to speak." Castiel offered him a smile. "Would you like to tell me your name now that you can speak?"

Freckles hesitated, before slowly nodding.

"It's weird to be given a choice, you know? With Alastair, he always forced me to tell him things I didn't want to. So to be given the choice between staying silent and giving you information? I almost don't wanna tell you." He smiled unhumorously. "But, uh, I'll still tell you. My name's Dean."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dean, I'm Castiel." He stuck out a hand for Fre-_ Dean_ to shake. Hesitantly, Dean reached out and grasped Castiel's hand.

"Nice to meet ya, Cas." Dean said with a grin.

**A/N: so i know that Dean is a lot less confident in this than he is in the show, but i figured that someone doesn't come out of four months of torture unchanged. it's gonna take some work to bring back the Dean we all know and love.**

A/N2: right now, i'm just trying to get from point A to point B, so PM me if you have anything you would like to see. i'll do my best to work them into what i've already written. i won't put in any sexy times, though. sorry to disappoint.  



	8. Chapter 8

_Cas?_ Castiel frowned and cocked his head to the side. A nickname. He had never had a nickname before. Well, that was discounting Balthazar's irksome 'Cassie,' but still. And giving someone a nickname. Was that not a form of endearment? Yet he had only just met Dean, surely they were not close enough for nicknames yet. It was then that he noticed the look of horror slowly spreading across Dean's face.

"Ah, crap. Sorry man. It's just that 'Castiel' is a bit of a mouthful, so I just thought, why not call him 'Cas'?"

"Dean-"

"But I shouldn't be giving nicknames to a person I just met, should I? I'm really sorry."

"Dean-"

"It won't happen again, I swear. I didn't mean for that to come out. From here on out, it will be strictly Castiel. No nicknames or anything. You know what-"

"Dean, stop talking." Immediately, Dean's mouth snapped shut, suspicion creeping into his eyes. "You may call me 'Cas,' that is quite alright." Dean began to relax, although the suspicion remained clear. "I have never had a nickname before, and Balthazar's _abomination_ does not count." Dean's mouth quirked up at the sides. "So please, call me Cas. You may speak."

"Thanks, Cas. The last person I gave a nickname to was my brother, and I'm pretty sure he wants to kill me right now."

"Why?" Castiel questioned, curious. Dean visibly paled, and Castiel could anticipate his answer.

"I'd really rather not talk about it," Dean said tightly. Castiel nodded, unsurprised, and did not push the matter. Dean looked confused at the lack of questions on Castiel's part, but he just shrugged and turned his attention to picking at the gauze on his right arm, eyes drooping.

"It would be best," Castiel said slowly, not wanting to spook Dean, "to find you something to eat." He took in the purple crescent moons beneath Dean's eyes that made them look impossibly green. Castiel nodded, as though he was agreeing with himself. Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Dude, I'm _fine_." Dean flopped back down and purposefully looked anywhere except Castiel.

"Dean, you are not fine. Vampires do not require sleep, yet you look exhausted."

Dean fixed his eyes on Castiel, eyebrows raised in a _Duh,_ gesture. "Yeah, well, that's because I _am._ Just let me sleep, okay?" Castiel sighed, but decided to let Dean be. He had been ordered around enough lately. He stood and walked over to where Balthazar _still_ lay.

"I'm going out for a bit," he whispered. Balthazar grunted in response and Castiel slipped on his shoes and overcoat and stepped outside, into the pale morning light. He realized that his overcoat was still soaked in vampire blood, but he could not find it in himself to care if anyone saw. The ache from being squeezed into a human body had returned and doubled in strength, causing his vision to blur at the edges. He glanced around furtively to see if anyone was nearby, then slowly, gingerly, brought his wings onto the corporeal plane. As the ache lessened, he let out a sigh of relief, and swiftly flew into a clearing in a forest several miles away. Fresh, sticky snow lay in a thick layer on the ground and clung to the evergreens, softening edges and brightening the shadows. The forest was silent, muted by the heavily falling snow.

Castiel cast one last glance around the clearing before he eased his true form out of its vessel. In a flash of white hot light, an empty shell of a man collapsed to the forest floor, all the nearby snow melted, the ground muddy. A huge bird was left standing in the man's place, both of its heads held high.

The bird was a bit taller than a large ostrich, standing at about nine feet tall. It had two long necks with a crest of midnight blue feathers atop each head. The bird's beaks were golden and hooked, and they glinted in the dim morning light. Its feathers were ink black, with streaks of purple and indigo shot through them. The bird had four massive wings, each covered with a thick layer of feathers, ranging from soft, coal grey afterfeathers to stiff, jet black primaries. It had long legs, with scales the color of gold; while its eyes were a striking blue, not unsimilar to sapphires. Those eyes were the only similarity between the bird and Castiel.

Castiel stretched his wings, reveling in the feeling of being free from the confines of a body. He gently preened his feathers, which were slightly askew from being stuffed into a body. Letting out a soft _caw_, Castiel took to the air with a few beats of his strong wings, snow catching on his back. He circled the small forest, enjoying the feel of wind in his feathers. He beat his wings faster, until he became a black streak in the sky, racing around and around, doing the occasional loop-de-loop.

When Castiel landed, night was falling, and he was bone tired. It had been ages since he had been able to fly, and he was just _slightly_ out of shape. He found a relatively snow-free spot and curled up on himself, tucking both of his heads under one of his wings. He closed his eyes and thought before he fell asleep, _I hope Balthazar and Dean are alright._

**A/N: sorry for the short chapter. I tried to make it longer, but only succeeded in adding 100 words. way. to. go. Anyways, pm me if there is anything you would like to see in this story, right now I'm just trying to get from A to B. No guarantees that I'll add it, though. Sorry.  
**

**A/N2: I also know nothing about birds. Typical. Tell me if I got something wrong.**


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! You guys are the best and I hope this chapter meets your expectations

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_Cassie? Castiel? __**Castiel.**_ Castiel let out an irritated squawk at the sound of Balthazar's voice in his head. _Infernal psychic link_, Castiel thought.

_What?_ he asked, none too happy about being woken up. It was still night, and waking up to Balthazar's voice _in his freaking mind_ was neither pleasant nor ideal. He had better have a good reason for this.

_It's, um, it's… Freckles_. Balthazar sounded worried. Castiel tilted his heads to the side. The most concern Balthazar ever showed was for himself. Something was most definitely wrong.

_What about Dean?_ Castiel was in no mood to beat around the bush.

_Dean? Nevermind, just get your feathery arse back here and I'll explain._ If Castiel wasn't worried before, he certainly was now. He mentally ran through all of the things that could have gone wrong. Was Dean hurt? No, he had treated all of his major injuries. Or so he hoped. Did he run off? Castiel had told him not to run away. Wait. Dean had not fed since last week. The symptoms of prolonged hunger were probably appearing. Crap. Castiel would have slapped himself, if he had any hands. _Idiot,_ he berated himself, _you incompetent, simpleminded fool._ He jammed himself back into his vessel, all the while cursing himself.

A hungry vampire is not something to be trifled with. Vampires could go up to two weeks without a drop of blood. During that time, there are three stages. In the first four or five days, extreme hunger sets in. Anything with a pulse becomes fair game, whether it be friend, family, or animal. They become vicious and withdrawn, feral killing machines with the sole thought to _feed_. They are dangerous, but it is not the least hazardous stage. After those first few days, the need fades. Blood becomes appalling, the thought of consuming the life force of another creature sends most vampires into hysterics. They feel human again, sleeping, eating, _breathing_. They feel as though their curse has been lifted, as though their affliction has been cured. They convince themselves that they are _fine_. Then the dreams begin. Nightmares overtake them, turning sleep into a living Hell. Paranoia and hallucinations plague them by day, turning anything they see into a weapon that can be used against them. Many have died in the presence of a hungry vampire, just because they were close and appeared threatening. After that, there was nothing. A vampire usually took its own life after those two weeks were up, or they died from hunger alone. It was not pretty, and Dean was _not _going to suffer that same fate.

Dean's situation, though, was different. Castiel supposed that he had been fed fairly consistently during his captivity, but that was starting to take its toll. Alastair had fed him only enough to keep him alive, not enough to stop the hunger from setting in. Instead of taking two weeks, the hunger was taking months. Drawn out, agonizing months. Castiel figured that the first stage had come and gone while Dean was with Alastair, leaving him somewhere in between the second and third stages. If he acted now, he could still quite possibly save Dean's life.

Castiel left his wings out and flew recklessly to their motel. He landed clumsily outside the door and took a moment to yank his wings off to some other plane. Frantic, he pounded his fist against the flimsy motel door, his otherworldly strength bowing it in. The poor door did not stand a chance against his furious pounding. When it fell to the floor, Castiel rushed inside.

Balthazar was halfway across the room, looking mildly anxious. Castiel knew him better than that, and knew that he was worried and felt completely and totally out of his depth.

"I'll take care of this. Go out for a flight." Balthazar nodded and left quickly, relieved to be out of that room. Castiel turned to Dean, and what he saw made his heart break.

Dean still lay on the bed that Castiel had occupied. He was asleep, but his rest was far from peaceful. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he trembled violently. His face was twisted up, either in pain or discomfort. He was making an odd whimpering noise, reminding Castiel of a kicked puppy. It appeared as though they were in the third stage. Wonderful. Castiel, completely out of his comfort zone, sat down on the bed and laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean still was not wearing a shirt, and Castiel could read one of the words etched into the skin there. _Monster._ Castiel shook his head. He would worry about that later.

"Dean," Castiel murmured soothingly, "Dean, wake up." He was only greeted by more whimpering. "Dean. You need to wake up." He shook Dean's shoulder, which elicited a groan from Dean. Castiel figured it was better than that awful whimpering and continued to shake him. Slowly, bit by bit, Dean resurfaced, his tired green eyes blinking open. Sleep had done nothing for him; if anything, he looked worse than he did yesterday.

"Hey," Dean whispered, his voice hoarse.

"You were having a nightmare," Castiel stated, unsure of how to continue.

"Thanks, Sherlock," Dean rolled his eyes and slowly, laboriously sat up. He stretched his arms above his head with a wince when they pulled on his broken ribs. "Hey, do you have a shirt I could borrow?"

Castiel stared at Dean, flabbergasted. He had just had a nightmare, one that had obviously shaken him up. Yet, somehow, he was down playing it, acting as though it had never happened. "Dean-"

"I _know_ what you're gonna say, Cas. Honestly, you're worse than Sam. I'm fine. Now, do you have a shirt or not?" Dean's voice was impatient, dangerous. It was clear that this conversation was over. Resigned, Castiel pointed to his bag. Dean rummaged through it, pushing aside outrageous sweaters with a snort until he found a suitable shirt. Castiel blushed slightly at his assortment of jumpers, but chose to focus on the fact that it was too big for Dean. Dean was slightly taller than Castiel with broader shoulders, and, under better circumstances, the shirt would have been too small. It appeared as though he had lost weight and muscle during his time with Alastair. _We will have to fix that,_ Castiel thought.

"So, how'd ya know to come, Cas?" Dean asked conversationally, "I mean, you and Mr. Fancy Accent don't have cell phones or anything."

"Balthazar and I share a psychic connection," Castiel informed him, "he contacted me and told me that something was wrong. I flew here as fast as I could." Dean turned to him with a slightly stunned look on his face

"Woah, woah, wait. _Psychic connection?_"

"Yes, phoenixes have a mental link with their kin, as well as their mate. It can be quite helpful and rather bothersome at the same time."

"Bothersome?"

"Yes, I do not particularly enjoy sharing the space inside my head with another creature. Balthazar knows this and uses it whenever he can to annoy me." Dean snorted a laugh.

"I feel ya there. Well, not the whole mind-reading thing. Annoying brothers? That I get." he thought for a moment, "When you say that you flew here, you mean like, _flew_ flew? As in, with _wings?_"

"Yes, Dean. A phoenix is typically a large bird, and birds _do_ tend to have wings." Castiel rolled his eyes. Dean was already rubbing off on him, and he had only known him for three days.

"Okay, okay, no need to get snippy." Castiel smiled and was about to say something else when he remembered the cause of Dean's nightmare.

"We need to find you some blood, and you are _not_ weaseling out of it this time."

"But-"

"But nothing. Come with me, Dean, we are off to find vampiric nourishment."

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**A/N: I don't really love this chapter. I added to it to make it less jarring, but I still dislike it. I finally said to myself, Screw it, and decided it was good enough. Let me know if something doesn't make sense. I promise I don't bite.**


	10. Chapter 10

Frowning, Dean followed Castiel out of the motel room, steadfastly ignoring the splintered remains of the door lying on the ground. He really didn't need to feed, in fact, he rarely felt hungry anymore. Really, he should be fine for a few more days. Granted, he wanted to spend those days either a) sleeping or b) reduced to a gibbering wreck sitting in the bathtub. Or, hey, why not drown those freaky blood cravings in a bottle of cheap whiskey? That always seemed to help him before his time with Alastair. Sadly, he got the feeling that Cas would _not_ go for that, and what Cas said was law.

Outside, it was still dark, just a few hours before dawn. Hobbling as quickly as he could to catch up with Castiel, he let out a yawn. Gah, he was sick of being tired _all the friggin' time_.

"Hey, Cas, this really isn't necessary," he began, not really wanting to drink some living thing's blood. He couldn't live with himself if he hurt anyone. Also, there were his teeth, and he'd really rather _not_ tell anyone about that.

Castiel stopped and tilted his head to the side, an oddly endearing habit. "Are you not hungry?" he asked.

"Well, yeah. There's nothing I'd like more than to rip someone's throat out, but I could hold out for a few more days." Castiel seemed surprised with his answer, evidently, he expected some lame excuse about not being hungry.

"Dean," Cas' voice was firm, yet gentle, "you need to eat. You will either go crazy from hunger or die." When he put it that way…

"Fine, just, can it not be from something _living_? I really don't wanna sink my, erm, fangs into a living, breathing thing." Dean was pretty sure that Cas would tilt his head to the side more, if it wouldn't break his neck.

"Where else would we find blood?" Cas was clearly confused, apparently thinking that Dean wanted to drink _tree blood_ or something, which was entirely impossible. Poor guy, obviously, he had never watched any crappy vampire TV shows.

"Dude, ever heard of a blood bank? Hospital? They always have bags of blood lying around." Dean felt guilty about taking something that someone else would need, when he most definitely was not worth it. Castiel, though, seemed to think it was a brilliant plan. Smiling, he turned away from Dean and glanced around. "What are you do-"

Dean's question stumbled to a halt as four magnificent raven black wings appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch them, getting the feeling that Cas would not appreciate that. He saw that they phased right through Castiel's ugly trench coat, and Dean decided right then and there to not question creepy-phoenix-wing-physics. Cas reached out to grab Dean's upper arm, but he shied away.

"Whoa, man. You're not gonna _fly_ us there, are you?" Castiel frowned.

"How else would we get there?"

"A car, man. A nice, normal, completely _grounded_ car." Castiel rolled his eyes and reached out for Dean once more. He clamped his hand around Dean's arm, and in a blink of an eye, they were flying. _I could sing some High School Musical songs, right now,_ Dean thought in a haze. He was vaguely aware of a burning sensation underneath Castiel's hand, but he was too focused on not puking to notice. Castiel landed outside a hospital with grace, whilst Dean stumbled around, eyes streaming. He could live the rest of his life and be completely happy with not doing that again. Glancing over at Castiel, he saw his eyes widen.

"Your arm," Castiel said, horror evident in his voice. Dean twisted his head and got a blurry vision of burnt cloth and steaming flesh.

"Cas, it's okay. I hardly noticed." While that was true, he sure was noticing now. It stung, and the cold air did nothing to help. His arm was hot, and once again, there was that feeling of plunging snow covered hands into warm water. "How about we find some blood?" Castiel slowly tore his eyes away from Dean's burnt flesh before nodding.

"You should wait here, while I get it," Castiel said, "I could get it much faster that you can, and I would be quieter than you." Well, thanks.

"Fine," Dean said sullenly, not doubting for a moment that Castiel would not hesitate to command him to stay there. He also wasn't keen on stumbling through darkened hallways on a broken leg. "Just, get some O-negative, it's the most common blood type. I don't want anyone to die because of me." Cas just gave him a calculating look before he nodded and flew off. Apparently, phoenixes could phase through walls. Great.

While Cas was gone, Dean looked at his arm. It was burned, probably from Cas, but it was already starting to heal. Although, he'd have a nice scar to show people. The skin was raised and pink, and it smarted to touch. It was shaped like a handprint, and it made Dean think of some sort of dog tag, a mark of possession or claim. Like it shouted out to the world, _This vampire belongs to Castiel! Touch it and die a thousand fiery deaths!_ Did he just think that? That was weird. He was not the property of some creepy phoenix, and he was not branded like a freaking cow. That's just crazy talk.

True to his word, Castiel was quick, and he brought back a lovely bag full of O-negative. Wonderful.

"We should leave," Cas said, and went to grab Dean.

"Whoa there, soldier. How about we walk instead?"

"You do not enjoy flying," Castiel observed. Dean flushed red, embarrassed.

"Not really, no. Look, you can fly off like you're Peter Pan, and I can walk back."

"I do not understand that reference, and it would not be wise for you to walk that far on a broken leg. You would most likely end up injuring yourself further. Also, it would be imprudent to leave you alone. Alastair is still out there." Dean froze, his eyes widening in fear. "I will join you, we will not fly, and I will not leave you alone," Castiel quickly amended. Dean nodded his thanks, though he was still fearful of the mention of Alastair. He allowed Castiel to take the lead, given the fact that he didn't know the way back. He was acutely aware of his missing pinky toe, and he allowed himself to take a trip down memory lane.

_It was around the two-and-a-half month mark when Alastair made him chop off his own toe. He had chosen a pinky toe, not of great import, and had leaned in uncomfortably close._

"_Sit up, Dean." Alastair had whispered, his breath had smelled rancid and sweet, like a decaying flesh and rotting fruit smoothie. Dean barely resisted the urge to vomit, and sat up obediently. His head had spun at the slight change in altitude, it had been the first time he had moved in days. Alastair pressed a knife into his hand._

"_Dean, I want you to take this knife and press it to your little toe." Gulping, he obediently took the knife and placed it next to his toe. "Now, I want you to add a little pressure." Submissively, Dean did as Alastair said. "A little more." Blood began to well up around the knife. Dean regarded it with detached curiosity. _What a lovely color_, he had thought. "More." Slowly, continually, Dean applied more pressure. More. More. Moremoremoremore._

Dean was brought back to the present when his face collided with the ground.

"Ugh," he moaned. Spitting out dirt, he lifted his head and saw Cas looking at him with curiosity.

"Are you alright?"

"Super." He struggled to sit up, wincing when he put pressure on his broken wrist. Painfully, he made it to his feet, blushing at the fact that he had fallen over. Suddenly, the ground had become _very_ interesting.

"Here," He lifted his head and saw that Cas had broken off a tree branch and was now holding it out to him. He took the proffered branch and leaned onto it heavily. "Are you sure that you are alright?" He really was like Sam.

"I'm fine, I just got lost in thought. Yeesh." Castiel gave him a soul searching look before shrugging. He began to walk, but much slower this time, and he constantly glanced back at Dean. He carefully avoided looking at Cas and instead took in their surroundings. They were walking down a deserted street, small shops lining the road. They all looked like they could use a new coating of paint, but hey, he wasn't really one to judge. The town they were in must be tiny, if their so called 'main street' looked like this. In the entire town, they had only one motel, the one that Dean was staying in with Castiel.

"So, any idea where this town is?"

"I believe it is in the northern part of Montana."

"Hmmmm. Never been here, and that's sayin' something. Cause, me and my brother, we used to travel all over the country." Great, now Cas was giving him that _look_ again, like he was unearthing all of Dean's secrets, reading him like an open book.

"Is that so?" Castiel asked conversationally. He seemed disinterested, but Dean could see the glint of curiosity in his eyes. Dean quickly clammed up, not wanting to dredge up old memories. He hummed in agreement, and continued walking. When they reached the end of the road, they stood outside of their motel room. They both stepped inside, the lack of door unsurprising. The door still lay on the floor, and Castiel sheepishly picked it off of the ground. He turned and leaned it against the door frame. Dean rolled his eyes and set his walking stick in the corner. He flopped on the bed and looked at Castiel.

"Here you are," Castiel handed him the bag of blood. Dean wrinkled his nose, completely repulsed at the thought of drinking someone's _blood_. Sighing, he took the bag. He glanced around the motel room for a mug or something, not really wanting to drink it from the bag. His eyes settled on a cup on the corner of the kitchenette. Grabbing the cup, he ripped open the bag and dumped its contents into the cup. When the metallic tang of blood reached his nose, he could feel his second set of teeth shift into place. Well, what was left of them.

Alastair thought it would be hilarious if he pulled out all of Dean's second set of teeth, and they had slowly been growing in for weeks. He had about four of them now, and occasionally, he would feel the sharp pain of a tooth coming in. Turning away from Castiel, he took a sip of the blood. He managed to choke it down, not allowing himself to spit it out. Gosh, it tasted _awful_.

"Dean? Are you okay?" He must've tensed up, and now Cas was concerned, _again_. Nodding, he walked into the bathroom, and shut and locked the door behind him. Wrapping his fingers around the cup, he slid to the floor. Dean rested his head against the wall while he took another mouthful of the blood. Nasty. Steadily, he drained the cup, then waited for a few minutes to make sure that he would be able to keep it down. After five minutes, he shifted his second set of teeth back - all _four_ of them - and stood. He opened the door to find Cas standing two inches away from him.

"Dude, did you wait here the entire time?" Castiel nodded.

"Your teeth," he began, and Dean sighed. He had really hoped that Cas hadn't seen them.

"Don't worry about that." Dean just wanted to be left alone.

"I thought that vampires were supposed to have an entire second set, not just four."

"They are, okay?" Dean snapped, "Alastair pulled all of mine out, so just drop it."

"Ah." Castiel looked embarrassed, "That was why you did not want to feed from something living."

"Something like that," Dean muttered, "Hey, you wanna watch a movie or something?" Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed before giving in.

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A/N: sadly, another chapter that I don't particularly care for. Ah, well. Sorry if Dean and Castiel are out of character, I truly am a terrible writer. Anyways, the next chapter is giving me trouble (my rough draft ended here) so updates might become more sporadic. Also, sorry for the lack of swears, I'm not exactly, ah, _comfortable_ with using swear words myself (don't get me wrong, i don't have a problem with other people swearing). I'm trying to do the characters justice without swearing, but it's a smidge harder than you would think.

A/N2: I have a quick question. Would you guys rather that I make one quick/long chapter about Dean and Castiel getting to know each other, or would you rather I did it in a couple of chapters, with stories to go with it? It's all up to you guys. Also, I'm still open to ideas for this story. If you're embarrassed, you could head over to my tumblr, and send me an anonymous ask. I would really love to hear from you guys! My tumblr is hanzorelly . tumblr .com


	11. Chapter 11

The only decent movie that was currently being shown on television was _The Princess Bride_. Dean had shrugged and said it was better than _Twilight_. Castiel, who knew nothing about movies, decided to trust Dean on that and not say anything. Within the first five minutes, Castiel was completely lost. It appeared to be a movie about… a boy and his grandfather? A book? Buttercup and Westley? Wait, no, it was about a boy who was sick and his grandfather read him a book, and the book was about Buttercup and Westley. How very complex. Castiel shook his head, wondering at the ingenuity of humans. Instead of allowing himself to become more confused, he focused on Dean. He watched as Dean mouthed along to particularly memorable lines, watched as Dean laughed at something that was said, watched as Dean winced at the Rodents of Unusual Size. Castiel noted that he apparently did not like rats. When the movie was over, he was still looking at Dean. Dean glanced over at him, and their eyes locked together. They stared, unblinking, until Dean grew uncomfortable and looked away, clearing his throat. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel got there first.

"Are you sure you're alright? You still look incredibly tired."

"I'm fine, Cas. Are _you_ sure you're not a chicken? Cause you've got the mother hen thing down to a science." Castiel rolled his eyes.

"You keep saying that you are fine. I do not think it means what you think it means." Wait, did he just quote a movie? Dean looked equal parts awestruck and uncomfortable.

"How about you never, _ever_, quote a movie again?" Castiel nodded his head, also rather uncomfortable. He was trying to think of something to say when he was saved by Balthazar knocking the door down.

"Oops. I guess we didn't get that fixed, did we?" Balthazar grinned unapologetically. Castiel rolled his eyes. "Careful there, Cassie, or your eyes might just roll out of your head." Dean snorted and Balthazar looked at him. "Ah, and Sleeping Beauty has awoken. How are you feeling, Freckles? Not that I actually care."

"Actually, it's Dean."

"My my! It can talk, too!" It was Castiel's turn to snort.

"Why _did_ you refuse to talk?" Castiel had a sneaking suspicion, but he still wanted to know for sure.

"I was told not to," Dean's tone was nonchalant, but he began to fidget. "Hey, Cas, I'm gonna go shower. You got another shirt I could borrow? This one got kinda burned." Castiel nodded and gestured towards his bag, but he was focused on the way that Balthazar's eyebrows had now joined the rest of his hair. He was in for a talk.

Balthazar waited until Dean had found a shirt and had the shower running to turn on Castiel.

"Really, Castiel? A _claim_? You've only known him for a few days." Balthazar hissed.

"Do you _think_ I wanted this to happen? I flew while I was touching him, and I lost my grip on my emotions. I already felt so protective of him." Castiel put his head in his hands, groaning. "This will make things so much more complicated."

Balthazar sighed. "Look, Cassie, I know that you didn't mean for this to happen, but you've got to be careful. If another supernatural creature sees it and knows what it is, they're gonna want to take him to get to you. And now that you've claimed him as yours, you're going to be more than a little overprotective. Just… don't lose your head, okay?"

Castiel nodded. "I will have you to help me, though." Balthazar looked away. "Right?"

"Listen, Cassie, I've been called back by our superiors. They figured that you could handle this on your own now. If they found out about your mark of claim, then they'd assign him to someone else. I've got to go back to prevent arousing suspicion."

Castiel exhaled, long and slow, trying to decide what to do. If he kept Balthazar here, then the other phoenixes would come to investigate. They would find him and Dean, and they would take Dean away. Reassign him to someone else. If he were to let Balthazar leave, he would probably end up killing someone who _looked_ at Dean wrong. Perhaps he could call on one of his friends to help him. No, he was not… how to put it… popular. He made his decision and huffed.

"I will be fine, Balthazar. You should leave now, so you can get back to the Nest." Balthazar nodded and began to pack up his clothes without argument.

* * *

Dean slumped against the door. _Claimed? What on earth does that mean?_

* * *

Castiel waited, albeit not very patiently, for Dean to get out of the bathroom. Whilst he waited, he had a rather heated debate with himself . To tell him about the claim or not to tell him, that was the question. The pros would be that Dean would not put himself in dangerous situations. Hopefully. The cons? Most likely, he would freak out, try to run away, or become very distant. It would be best that he remain in the dark.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Dean stepped out, toweling his wet hair. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Castiel sitting on the couch. Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Dean spoke right over him.

"Got something you want to share with me?" He stared at Castiel meaningfully, and in that moment Castiel _knew_. Dean knew about the claim. Crap. Crap crap crappity crap cr-

"Castiel." He was snapped out of his dizzying spiral of despair by Dean's stern voice. It had a no-nonsense air about it, one that had probably been perfected after years of living with a younger sibling. Castiel sighed and prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught from Dean.

"Well, ah, um, when I flew us to the hospital, I, uh, burned you, correct?" Dean gave a sharp nod to show that he was listening. "I, erm, let my emotions get out of control…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Just spit it out," Dean sounded exasperated. Castiel squared his shoulders. Distancing himself from the situation, he explained in a flat, monotonous voice.

"Phoenixes have what you could call a mark of claim. Generally, it is used on other phoenixes, but it can also apply to other creatures. It is a physical representation to show possession," Castiel winced, "or protection. It allows other phoenixes to know that this certain creature is off-limits. A mark of claim only occurs if there already were feelings of… the need to protect. It usually appears when a weaker phoenix spends a copious amount of time in the company of a stronger phoenix. The handprint on your shoulder is a mark of claim. When I rescued you, I already felt protective. Also, I have this terrible habit of, as you would say, 'spacing out.' I did not have a tight hold on my emotions, and my protective feelings escaped into you. Do you understand?" Dean nodded.

"So, when you say that it's a mark of possession, what does that mean?"

"Well, erm, other creatures - supernatural or human - would be naturally put off. They would know instinctively that to touch you would be to incur the wrath of a powerful being." Dean groaned. "Yet, if they were to know what the mark was, they would want to take you to get to me. Phoenixes have a weakness towards their claim, so if they were to harm you, it would harm me too."

"A weakness?"

"Ah, a claim creates a simple mental bond between the two. It is similar to mind reading." At Dean's alarmed expression, Castiel jumped to explain. "Not actual thoughts! Just, emotions, feelings, stuff like that. It allows the stronger phoenix to know when their ward is in danger. So, if you were to experience pain, I would as well. Do you follow?" Dean looked wary, but he nodded.

"You said that if the other phoenixes knew, they would reassign me. Why? Wouldn't the claim make it so I'm safer?"

"You eavesdropped!" Castiel exclaimed, indignant. Dean raised his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest.

"So sue me, continue with the question."

"The protective feelings become very… intense. If I felt that someone was a danger to you, they would most likely end up burnt to a crisp. Someone looks at you wrong? Incinerated. Someone talks to you for too long? Incinerated. Someone gets too close?"

"Yeah, I get it, incinerated. So, I guess we'll have to lay low." Castiel nodded. Dean sighed and cursed under his breath. "There went my hopes of doing some hunting." Castiel froze. Hunting? Surely he meant with deer, right?

"Dean, what was your profession in your previous life?" _Please let it be something normal, please let it be something normal. _Dean went stock-still, realizing he had slipped up.

"Um, I was… sort of… a mechanic?" It sounded closer to a question than an answer. It was quite obviously a lie.

"Don't lie to me, Dean. Tell me what your profession was before you were a vampire." Castiel waited, hoping, _hoping_ that he was not a hunter.

"I was a hunter." Dean appeared to brace himself. As if Castiel would hurt him. Castiel huffed out a breath. Fan-_freaking_-tastic. His charge, who he would now protect to his very last breath, used to be a hunter. He had definitely made some enemies. Wait. A hunter named Dean. Crap.

"Are you Dean _Winchester_?!" Tentatively, Dean nodded. Castiel's life had just become a boatload of _uh-oh_ with a dash of _fate hates me_ and a heavy heaping of _we are going to die_. His boat might as well be called the _S.S. I Am So Screwed_. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Castiel plopped onto the nearest surface. Judging from the hard springs underneath him, it was most likely one of the beds. "Great. I'm saddled with one of _the most_ wanted hunters in the history of earth, and now I've claimed him. Wonderful."

"If it's any consolation," Dean began hesitantly, "pretty much everyone I knew thinks I'm dead. They've probably spread the word. People won't be looking for me."

"And why is that?"

"Before I left my brother-"

"Sam."

"Right, Sam. Anyways, before I left him, I was sort of in a downward spiral," Dean rubbed the back of his neck, "Alcohol was my new best friend. There was rarely a day that I was sober. Eventually, it stopped helping. I felt hopeless, and I became... how did Sam put it? Oh, _erratic_. He still trusted me enough to take me on hunts, but I would do stupid stuff. I was too aggressive, would put myself in harm's way, didn't hesitate to let other hunters know just what I was. Am. Whatever. I was a danger to Sam, to others around us. Finally, after I put myself between Sam and a bullet, he had had enough. He managed to trick me into going to a friend's house and locked me up. Except, instead of locking me in our friend's panic room, he put me in the room we used to stay in when we were kids. Bad choice. When he came to check on me, I bit him and ran off. They probably think some hunters got me or that I got on the wrong end of some monster. So there ya go."

"Dean,"

"But I'm alright. Totally and completely okay. I guess my time with Alastair made me realize that I don't really want to die." Dean chuckled unhumorously. Castiel decided then and there to keep an extra close eye on Dean. Having such a low regard for your own well being? That sort of mindset does not go away over night, or even a few months.

"If you wanna lay low, that's fine with me. I'll warn ya right now though, I'll end up going stir-crazy if we stay in one place for too long." Castiel eyed Dean, then made a decision that he knew he would end up regretting.

"I suppose we could, as you would call it, find a hunt. If you so desire."

* * *

a/n: oh no! apathy, my old friend has made an appearance in my life. ugh. hopefully, i'll push past it. i have every intention of finishing this story, it might take ages, though. anyways, message me if there are plot holes, things that need more explaining/don't make sense, offensive things, or if there is something you would like to see. you guys are the best!


	12. Chapter 12

an: purely a filler chapter. skip if you so desire.

huge shoutout to everyone who left a review, especially to nani'anela and coolbeena for their wonderful ideas! i wouldn't have thought of them otherwise. also, thanks for the kind reviews on the humor in the last chapter. it's not really my strong suit, so they really boosted my confidence.

* * *

Castiel had one rule for hunting. Namely, Dean had to wait until he was completely healed before he could so much as _research_ a hunt. He couldn't really argue with this, given the fact that he would do the same if he were in Castiel's shoes.

So they traveled and began to learn about each other.

Dean learned that Castiel had very few preferences; he didn't have a favorite band, movie, even a favorite _food_. He decided to remedy that quickly.

"What? You don't have a favorite food? C'mon, man. There's gotta be something." Castiel had thought for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

"No, I have never particularly enjoyed human cuisine." Sighing dramatically, Dean had managed to convince Castiel to go to a practically deserted diner on the edge of town. They had chosen a secluded corner in the back of the diner where they had a good view of the rest of the diner. When the waitress came over, Castiel had looked at Dean with wide eyes, a look of sheer terror on his face. Gritting his teeth, Dean had forced himself to order for the both of them – two cheeseburgers. The near physical pain of talking to someone was worth the look on Castiel's face when he bit into his burger. Favorite food? Check.

Castiel loved animals, namely bees, and Dean could usually find him in the nearest park, surrounded by the buzzing insects. Testing products on animals disgusted him, and on one occasion, Dean had found him muttering about _monkeys_ and _lipstick_. Unconcerned, Dean had left him to it, and on the news the next day, he had discovered that all of the monkeys in the nearest zoo had been let out and were currently terrorizing the city. Cas also had a bad habit of bringing in strays. Some mornings, Dean would wake up surrounded by kittens and puppies, all of them giving him this pitiful look, with their ridiculously large eyes. No matter how much Dean protested, Castiel ignored him and would continue to give animals shelter, if only for one night. As time went on, Dean found that it didn't really bother him as much as it should have, even if he was allergic to cats.

Dean also learned that Cas wasn't exaggerating about being overprotective, in fact, he had quite possibly _downplayed _it. Castiel rarely left Dean alone, and in public, he was a downright nightmare. He literally _growled_ at anyone that got too close, and had taken to invading Dean's personal bubble, as if to prove his claim. Instead of being annoying, it actually made Dean feel safe and he rarely protested. If anything hurt Dean, Cas would give it a look, as though it had personally offended him. One morning, Dean cut himself shaving, and at his muttered curse, Castiel appeared at his side instantly. He gave the razor a glare, and the thing _melted_. Dean concluded that Cas had the death glare down to an art, and that looks could quite literally kill, if they were from Castiel.

Castiel could also give Sam a run for his money in the puppy dog eyes department. He carefully refrained from giving Dean commands, for which Dean was grateful, electing instead to turn his huge blue eyes on Dean. Dean was putty in his hands, instantly giving into whatever Cas wanted. If anything, they were more effective at getting Dean to do something than orders.

Castiel could be stubborn, unyielding in his decisions. He could be intimidating one moment, making others cower in the face of his fiery wrath; yet gentle and understanding the next, causing Dean to open up to him, even when he decidedly did _not_ want to. Anything that concerned humans - or Dean - had him frowning and tilting his head, squinting, as though that could help him unravel the mystery that was humanity. He was hopelessly clueless when it came to pop culture, and many jokes went over his head. Despite this, he was clever and smart, not dull in the slightest. He could easily tell if Dean was mocking him, and in turn would devise a complex strategy to gain his revenge. He was a superb planner and an excellent politician. He could run circles around the best politician until their head spun, such was Castiel's prowess.

Castiel was a rebellious phoenix, and at home - in his Nest with other phoenixes - he would not hesitate to make his displeasure clear. He would fight against unjust orders, thus resulting in harsh punishment for himself and those he managed to sway to his side. Castiel was not well liked among the phoenixes for his independent thinking, which was a shame; he was brilliant, borderline genius. This didn't stop him from fighting Dean whenever he was told to do something and his rebelliousness transferred into his life with Dean. Often times he reminded Dean of a surly teenager, fighting against the simplest of chores, before giving in with a great deal of sighing and eye rolling.

When Dean could get Castiel to talk about what it was like being a phoenix, one thing stood out to him: Castiel was uncomfortable. Not like, "Oh, I'd really rather not talk about it," uncomfortable, more like, "I'm a grumpy old man and everything aches and you better stay off of my lawn, young whippersnapper," uncomfortable. After doing some sneaky research on phoenixes, he discovered that they aren't really people, but birds squished _inside_ people. Gross. Asking Castiel about it, he got a shrug and was told some really long explanation complete with mathematical formulas that he didn't understand the half of. He got the gist, though. He got that the guy Castiel used to share his body with left some time ago, and that Castiel would get achy and stiff when he was cooped up in his vessel for too long. _Exactly_ like an old man. That was prime teasing material right there, yet, when these times came around, Dean would be on his best behavior. Castiel would get crabby and irritable, prone to glaring and long silences. Anything could be the last straw, and if Castiel wasn't happy, no one was. In his mind, Dean called it Cas' _Bird-Period_. Because, honestly? Irritable, achy phoenixes with ice-cream cravings weren't all that different from a teenage girl.

In turn, Castiel learned much about Dean. He learned that Dean had an unhealthy, borderline _obsessive_, relationship with pie. Whenever they went somewhere, Dean would request pie; pie with breakfast, pie with lunch, pie with dinner. Occasionally, they went on midnight pie runs, much to Dean's delight. Dean favored music with an erratic beat and loud singing, which Castiel did not care for. He loved driving, and whenever he could, he would convince Castiel to let him drive.

Dean was uncomfortable around crowds. Castiel supposed that this was from his time with Alastair, seeing only one face for months could do that to you. Or, it could be the ever-present desire to rip out everyone's throat within a ten foot radius. In public, Dean was tense and nervous, often opting to leave the speaking to Castiel. He developed a nervous habit of tapping some unknown beat against his thigh whenever he was agitated. Castiel adopted a habit of standing close to Dean, and the vampire would relax marginally. It made them both feel better, and it quickly became normal. The only person Dean seemed comfortable with was Castiel, and when they were alone, he opened up. He could be quite obnoxious; singing loudly and off-key, telling childish jokes about flatulence, and pulling ridiculous faces when Castiel was doing something serious. At other times, he could be quiet and focused, like when he cleaned his weapons, cooked, or was catching up on some supernatural lore, which Castiel frowned upon.

Peculiarly, Dean liked to act human. He would eat, sleep, and drink. It puzzled Castiel, and when he asked about it, he got a muttered reply about _feeling more human_ and _closer to Sammy_. Castiel had shrugged, and had allowed him to carry on, as long as it did Dean no harm. Some human tendencies _could _be rather destructive.

When Castiel was angry, he would explode, and then calm down rather quickly. Dean was a different story. If you angered him, he became quiet, withdrawn. He was cold and distant, not unsimilar to a rock. His mental and emotional walls grew taller than ever before, the gates slammed shut, and a heavy padlock was put on them. Dean would retreat into the citadel of his own mind. He gave answers in one word sentences, biting them out, as though it physically pained him to speak to Castiel. Sometimes his silences would last days, weeks even, before he spoke to Castiel about what was bothering him. He could hold a grudge like no other, yet he forgave easily. A slice of pie, a movie to watch, and a well-placed _I'm sorry_ were all he needed to calm down. Castiel carefully avoided angering him, and was spared from long, agonizingly quiet days.

Dean was cynical, a naturally distrustful person, never allowing himself to get close to others. Yet, if he put his walls down, he grew attached quickly. He dealt well with children, and Castiel guessed that this came from practically raising his younger brother. Dean was a family man at heart, and when Castiel could get him to open up about his brother, Dean had nothing to say but praise. The only reason Dean had left was that he did not want to hurt Sam. Yet, underneath all of the glorifying, Castiel could sense some bitterness. Dean felt betrayed when Sam left for college, leaving Dean alone with his father, hurt that he had only joined Dean in hunting for revenge for his dead girlfriend, angry that Sam would give up hunting to live some 'apple-pie life.' Yet, Dean would lay down his life for his little brother, and would do anything to protect him. Dean placed his needs second to those he cared about, a depressingly short list. A list that Castiel was slowly becoming a part of.

Dean had a problem seeing his own self-worth, which infuriated Castiel to no end. Sometimes, he just wanted to grab Dean and shake him, until he could see what Castiel saw: a good, kind man that had loved and lost far too many times. Other times, he wanted to pull him into a tight hug and tell him that everything would be okay, but Dean did not react well to physical touching. A shame, really, because Castiel was a fairly touchy-feely kind of phoenix.

Dean had a strange affection towards the more domestic part of life, as well. He would cook meals for them occasionally, if their motel was well-stocked. He took great pride in his cooking capabilities, and Castiel did his best to ensure that they had a home cooked meal on a fairly regular basis. Castiel would sometimes find him cleaning the sink or counters, humming to himself contentedly. He would insist upon washing the dishes, while he forced Castiel to dry. He would make Castiel help him with the laundry, or would interrupt his book reading to tell him to go sweep the kitchen. Their life became rather domestic, whilst they waited for Dean to finish healing. After that, though, life was not as peaceful as it had once been.

* * *

an: so i tried a different writing style for this chapter, and i'm not really sure how i feel about it. anywho, i'm just really lazy, which is why it's like this. also, i had this idea that instead of castiel reading emotions, it's more like a taste. like anger is spicy, happiness is sweet, remorse is bitter. should i put that in here?


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